A Lovers' Game
by XxxArchangelxxX
Summary: Bella/Jasper. There’s a new arrangement between the two. "She was no longer a guest star in his dreams. She was his leading lady."
1. Chapter 1

** Chapter one: Night **

**Summary: Bella/Jasper. There's a new arrangement between the two.**

**AN: This story has been running around in my head, and my rule is, if it won't go away, get it out. So here is my first story, please review!!!!!! it would just be a one-shot, if alot of people review i'll make it a full story!!!!!!!!**

He stared at her, this out of place creature, as if trying to place her back in the right context in his mind. She was the last person he'd expected to see here—she was always the last person her expected to see, though she held top priority in those he hoped to see. She was no longer a guest star in his dreams. She was his leading lady.

He knew very well that she hadn't seen him yet. If she had, she would have bolted from the dimly lit club as if on fire, becoming a mere mirage on his part. She liked to keep him contained, at her desire, forever upholding the childish notions of their youth. The ability to live without ties.

It used to be easy for him, effortless to turn things on and off, until she disrupted the flow of women that streamed through his bedroom door. She had once upon a time been one of his many—her telling him she didn't want to be labeled as such is something he still hears in the depths of his mind, tormenting him as he can still taste the remnants of her on his lips or the way his sheets still smell like her when he brings the next woman back to his apartment after a charity event.

He'd wanted to fight her on the issue when she stormed into his dorm room all those years ago, to tell her that she didn't have to be one of the many. She could be the only one that he allowed in his life, in his mind, in his heart. All she had to do was want that too. But she hadn't. She'd wanted to cut ties that were too constrictive, cutting too deeply into her flesh. She was already anticipating the scars. She wanted to start fresh with someone who would never put her through the embarrassment of seeing him with another woman.

He knew it was worse that she knew the other women didn't mean anything. He didn't have to hurt her like that. He just did. And just like that, he watched her leave, assured if not pleased with the outcome of her speech. Gone were the playful nights out, running around campus and kissing her against the stone walls and treating her to coffee. It was back to the faceless sea of the masses.

Her visits didn't start up again for about three months after her announcement that she couldn't be with him anymore. He knew when he saw the wild look in her eyes as she stood there, shivering on his doorstep, that nothing had changed. He knew she wouldn't be there when he woke up, he knew that he couldn't bring her coffee in the library the next day or take her to a movie the following Friday. Her presence was about immediacy.

Comfort.

Something he'd been missing as well since their last meeting. His door had never been closed for her. He ushered her in, along with this new era of their relationship. This time, there were no words. She didn't want to hear them and he was afraid to speak them. He knew they'd come out wrong somehow—never enough, never what she needed. So they rendezvoused in silence, save for sweet moans he elicited from her throat and their out of breath panting in unison toward dawn.

She never came to his door with enough frequency for him not to entertain the idea of finding her, but too often for him to actually break down and do so. It continued well after both had left the hallowed halls of Columbia University. The day he moved off campus, out of the state, he assumed away from her immediate realm of instant self-gratification, it was bittersweet for him to wonder how easy he would be for her to replace. After all, he was just one step up from her being left to her own devices.

He'd pulled her to him with ferocity the first time he opened his penthouse door to find her waiting there, that look never wavering from her eyes. He held her tightly for a good minute, he swore she let him hold her just this once, until she playfully pushed him back over the threshold and took no time in finding his new bedroom.

He knew nothing of her life. Now, sitting here on this barstool on the opposite end of the counter from her as she nursed her own drink, he could only assume she too had moved back to New York.

It was her, there was no doubt. No one else had eyes with the ability to break his heart even without meeting them head on. A collision with her was always fatal. No one else would stare into a shot of tequila for ten minutes, bang their fist on the counter before taking one long, smooth drink, finishing it off in its entirety as if she were being forced to do so.

She was upset, that much was for sure. She held up her glass to signal her need for another round to the bartender, and he observed her, fascinated. Gone was the shitty day he'd had that had wound him up here, ready to drink for a while alone before meeting up with the rest of his life later this evening and playing the part that had been scripted for him. She was all he could see, and he remained silent in hopes that she might stay longer for him to pretend. Pretend she was a part of his everyday landscape. That she was here for him. That her frustration now would land her on the other side of his door later this evening.

He sometimes wondered if he was just a real life stress toy in her mind. Something she pulled out when life wasn't going her way. To remind her of some old lesson learned.

He only knew she hadn't sought him out this time. This was his chance for initiation.

He watched as she swallowed two more drinks, and on the next sweep of the bar, it was his turn to beckon the bartender, slipping him a fifty and specific instructions along with a scribbled upon napkin. The bored-looking man raised his eyebrow and nodded before moving off to fulfill his requests. Now, he would wait.

Her face always told a story, she was more expressive than most, and he watched her confusion build as the bartender slid the tall glass of water in front of her instead of her fourth painkiller. At her descent into protest, the other man held up his hand in surrender, informing her he was just the messenger. It was then he handed her the napkin.

Confusion melted away to show distress. Her eyes darted up from the napkin and all around the bar, scanning and searching. By the time her glance landed on his barstool, it was too late, he'd vacated for a closer view.

"It's an open offer, Bells," he said from behind her, his words deposited directly into her ear.

"What are you doing here? You live," she began as she swiveled around to face him, shaking her head in disbelief. He noted her hands were also trembling as she still held his soft note.

"I work downtown," he cut her off, not wanting to make her ask. He revealed nothing she couldn't have assumed on her own.

"Oh."

"I assume you won't tell me anything as to what brought you here?" he paused, her answer in her recast gaze, fixated now on the opening door to the establishment. "But will you turn down a warm cab ride and an even warmer bed?"

Head-on collision. She met his gaze and the stirrings of compliance were present. He saw the wild look, the need, the hurt, everything. It was all there.

She nodded, tucking his note in her purse as he threw money down to cover her tab. She walked quickly ahead of him, hailing the cab, not needing to turn around to know he was right behind her, ready to go another round without explanation.

It was the next morning, sunlight streaming through his window as he groped at his blaring alarm, that he found it. Laying where his misplaced dreams had positioned her sweet face was the bar napkin that he'd sent over to her the night prior.

_I think it's high time you slowed down and considered another kind of nightcap. As much as angry works for you, you need to find an outlet for all that aggression. Just a suggestion._

He saw new writing, in lipstick no less, just underneath his scrawl.

_Such truer words were never uttered._

He got the feeling she was writing him off, or trying to, once again. Sighing, he tossed the covers back and wondered how long he'd have to wait until the next time.

~*~

**so please review and tell me what you think!!!!!**


	2. Cry For A Shadow

**Hi guys!!!! Thanks to all of you who reviewed and added the story to your alerts!!!!**

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Just three days had passed since he awoke to find the lipstick farewell on his pillow. The very same pillow that still smelled of her. He thought he was full on hallucinating when he found her standing on the other side of his door earlier, at the ready to leave the waiting world behind to join him for the evening.

She'd never visited with such frequency. Not since before . . . .

He reminded himself that he was sober and, last he knew, sane and ushered her into his home. She looked exactly the same, but yet completely different. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but tried not to dwell on this unknown as he was acutely aware that she would offer no details, and his not knowing what was going on with her would lead him to the same outcome as knowing. Alone in the early morning hours.

She made no haste; she seemed to be examining the contents of his front room, as if casing the place to take his stereo with her when she slipped out of bed, leaving him too exhausted to take notice or prohibit her. He smiled at the thought of her trying to be stealthy. She was a contradiction of grace: so aesthetic, a myriad of curves and lengths so artistically arranged; yet so unskilled in movement and flourishes.

He held his tongue, figuring that her methods would be revealed in good time. He hated the immediacy of his world and willed himself to slow down and just enjoy her floating amongst his belongings. Like she might crawl up onto the shelf and take up residence as a bookend at any moment.

Maybe he wasn't so sane anymore, after all.

He moved behind her as she examined his bookcases. He knew if he didn't divert her attention soon, she'd spend her whole time up reading cross-legged on his hardwood floor, not even bothering to move to the slight cushion of the Persian rug that stopped a couple of feet away from the wall. She would stay in reach of her precious books. His precious books.

Two hands landed on either side of her, resting lightly on the shelf at the height of her waist. She leant back into him, resting her weight fully on him. He could envision the closing of her eyes, and his heart swelled when he heard the soft contented sigh escape her lips.

This exercise was one from which he'd fallen out of practice. He hadn't had to coax her into his bedroom in years. Her insistence had become ferocious, growing in intensity with each subsequent visit. It was the only thing that made him believe that her visits weren't some kind of recurring dream. They were never exactly the same. He found that his body remembered how, without being told, just like riding a bike. He used one hand to put back the book she held in her hands, the other wrapping around and coming to rest on her stomach, slowly pulling her more firmly into him. She let go of the book with no resistance and put her hand on top of his. Her head leaned away from his lips, allowing his coaxing along her neck to be more effective. When he finally spun her around in his arms, she met his lips quickly.

He was sure this was so he could ask no questions. She knew she was behaving oddly. And she knew that he could tell. He swallowed his questions as he matched his tongue against hers. He promised himself that one of these days he'd get back at her for the lack of details by not opening his door for her, not giving in.

He'd been promising himself that for years.

The thought struck him suddenly that perhaps she had come more frequently than he realized. That just maybe she had found herself on his doorstep to an unanswered door while he was in Italy or Morocco or being forced into one of the society set-ups that his mother forced upon him in efforts to find him a suitable wife. He wondered if she just simply turned away and found some other outlet for her energy.

Oh, the questions he had for her.

Her fingernails scraped down his back underneath his untucked shirt, digging in harder as she pulled down and around his hips in search of his belt buckle. Her signature move. He knew what came next and decided for once he wasn't going to let her lead the whole scenario.

After all, he had needs, too.

Upon her beginning to back him toward his bedroom while her nimble fingers began unlatching his belt, he scooped her up and flung her over his shoulder, heading down the hall into the guest bathroom. After his locking the door and turning on the shower, she stood against the sink, her now swollen bottom lip stuck out for effect. He took notice of her as he moved slowly back in front of her.

She was intoxicating. Frustration and lust mixed up in her to coax out an insatiable beast. She didn't take not getting her way lightly. She was goal-oriented and driven. His mind drifted to that last time he failed to give her what she was looking for. He wouldn't let himself think that his having let her walk away was the exact reason that he'd let her do this her way all these years.

He'd done it her way long enough. She'd taken the no ties arrangement to an extreme. Not only were they not exclusive, she'd kept them nearly complete strangers save for their abilities to map out the others bodies blindfolded.

Once more, she would play by his rules or get out.

"Time to come clean, Bells. I suggest you strip down and get into the shower, or else I'm going to have to do this the hard way."

A look of indignance shot over her features. This clearly wasn't what she'd come for. "And what if I just leave instead?"

He shrugged, "Your call. But don't expect me to be there the next time."

She eyed him carefully, at first sure he didn't mean what he said. Her fingers toyed with the bottom button on her sweater. She bit the inside of her cheek and met his eyes through the steam that was building from the constant stream of hot water pounding against the bathtub.

"I can't tell you everything," she said finally.

He stepped forward and put his hands over hers, stilling her nervous fidgeting. "I'm just asking for a little more than nothing," he confessed as he continued to stare into her eyes. She gave a slight nod and he let go so she could pull her clothes off quickly, creating a pile with his before she returned to press her body into his, kissing him fervently as they stepped into the cascading water.

~*~

"I didn't mean for it to be like this," she said softly, just as he had fallen into the warm confines of fogginess that tingled over his body before he found sleep.

"Like what?" he had to force his tongue to form the words, they were thick and chalky as they passed through his lips. He slid a hand up into her hair so she would know he was giving her all his focus. "Bella?" he asked after her prolonged silence.

"I shouldn't even still be here, I should go," she kissed his temple softly.

"Not tonight. Stay," he commanded more than anything else and tightened the grip he had around her waist.

"I can't," she protested, running a friendly hand down his chest.

"Why?" his eyes now open again, catching her in a trap of his own.

"Because that's how it is."

"I can't do this," he groaned, burying his head into her chest. He felt two hands now, stroking through his hair, holding him to her. Comforting him.

"We have been for years. It's who we are," she said with great clarity, her words vaguely echoing her reason for sending them into the tailspin of their current, more ambiguous understanding. He didn't want to understand anymore. He didn't understand how she was okay with this.

"Are you in some kind of trouble?" he asked suddenly, moving his head to rest now on her shoulder as she looked down into his eyes.

"I'm," she paused, unable to lie to him, unable to give him more. "I'm figuring some things out."

"Meaning your visits will be more frequent in the foreseeable future?" he baited.

"Is that a problem?" Her confidence gave way to doubt in her eyes. She wasn't sure of his continued agreement to be there for her. To give her whatever it was she gained from her bouts of time spent in his bed.

His head was pounding with want and uneasiness. The scenarios for each answer couldn't play out in his head fast enough to make a rational decision. So he went with all that he was sure of. His gut feeling.

"No," he breathed.

"I'll stay, until you're asleep," she consented, brushing her lips over his gently. "I promise."

He knew she was appeasing him, though he hoped that somehow it was what she wanted despite whatever obligations she might have. Early meetings, a troubled roommate, someone else waiting for her at home . . . no, that couldn't be the case. She wasn't the type to be with him like this, for all this time, when there was someone else in the picture. He had wondered over the years how it was possible that she'd found no one else to give her what she wanted. A boyfriend. A one and only.

But her visits to him, though infrequent, were steady. There were never long periods of time when she didn't appear. Unless she had gone through a string of one month or less relationships.

That would be a lot of idiotic men. Men that would let her go. Just like he had.

So he'd never questioned it. She was still seeking him out, and he was willing to be sought after by her. He knew the day would come that something better came along in her life and he would be forgotten. Each time treated as if it might be the last. His own revolving door had slowed to a near halt save for her—not that he was monastic by any means, but he was simply growing up. He was too busy, he had too many demands on his time. Not to mention he trusted fewer people now that he was in charge of his own estate. He wasn't dumb enough to fork over half of his family's fortune for one night of distraction.

"You always do," he whispered, catching her lips against his once more, not pleading with her, but sealing her promise. Perhaps asking for a bit more. If not for her warm body to be the first thing he became conscious of in the morning, at the very least for her to return again in a timely manner. Not to be scared of this new development.

Talking.

He shuddered at how simplistic it was. Parents don't have to wait so long to hear their own children utter their first words as he'd gone without hearing her speak a full sentence. Their only vocalizations in the last few years had been animalistic, as their control left them. Soft moans, encouragement, desires. Far cries from the once combative and electric debates they used to have before they fell into bed.

He knew one thing for sure. He knew her fight was still in her somewhere. He just wasn't quite sure what it was that she was fighting.

**~*~*~**

**Well there it is!!!!! Please review and tell me what you think!!!!**

**Question: Do you think Bella could be a better at being a lawyer or a reporter??**

**Please give your opinion on the matter because I'm not so sure!!!!!!**


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